Paradox
by CodaEvermore
Summary: Everyone knows about the paradoxical hole outside of town. Cecil knows you shouldn't go near it. Carlos does, too. Unfortunately, the two are in separate universes.


It's the scientific find of a century.

A traditional black hole, of course, is a swirling vacuum of nothingness and antimatter, and is situated in the furthest reaches of the galaxies. This one, of course, is exactly the same. Save for the fact it is currently swirling, as an absent-minded whirlpool might meander, as a large black dot in the desert just outside Night Vale community.

It is, of course, a rare find to see a scientific anomaly conveniently situated just outside your doorstep. But it is even rarer to find an anomaly in Night Vale which can actually be recorded with scientific equipment, seeing as how half these instruments are confiscated and the remaining utterly _refuse_ to work.

The black hole isn't making a sound as the scientist sets up the tripod, most likely because a black hole is by definition an absence of, well, everything, and it looks so quiet and unassuming that Carlos finds his mood reflect this.

When a car pulls up, and the figure steps out, he has barely time to scream.

News is news, wherever it is.

Night Vale Radio Station has a duty to report all occurrences in the town, usual though they may be, and the town's faithful presenter is determined to fulfil his role, tradition though it is to be delegated to an intern. All of the interns have mysteriously disappeared for the day.

It's only a hole. Another hole to another dimension, located just beyond the furthest housing areas. The real question on everyone's minds is whether this hole links to the miniverse below the bowling alley or if it is just your regular, run-of-the-mill paradoxical timewarp.

Cecil squats down beside it, hoping that perhaps if he stares hard enough he will be able to see through to the other side; or a voice will kindly appear to tell him what its purpose is. It's what usually happens, after all.

His mobile rings; once, twice. Absently, he presses the receiver button – and it is the person on the other end of the call who hears the scream, though only momentary, through the line between.

"Carlos?"

He manages to keep his voice steady, miraculously. The figure who has just stepped out of the vehicle, the beloved radio presenter of Night Vale Community, does not quite allow himself to register what has happened. He just stares, at the sudden nothingness.

And then he starts walking towards the void; because things _do_ disappear in this town, they vanish all the time, but it must be impossible that there could ever exist a universe – of all which join in this town – where he does not. It takes some time to sink in.

"Cecil?"

A sharp, startling ringing sound buzzes through the line, as the scientist repeats the name. As though he could hear him. As though he did not just hear the sound, so uncharacteristic, so impossible.

As the realisation creeps in he continues to speak; explaining the dangers, the workings of antimatter and matter, its outstanding gravitational properties, as though it were not clear that his warning as arrived too late. As though he could still be heard.

Paradoxes are strange, by their very nature. They twist and warp the fabric of not only time, but space; although, as every good resident or scientist, knows, the two are one and the same.

So it is entirely possible, of course, that in one universe a presenter can stand of the edge of a desert, staring; and a scientist can sit on the end of a dead phone line, listening; and both of them are witnesses to the sudden disappearance of the other. It is to be expected, really.

So it's no surprise when a scientist sprints out of his lab, neglecting to shut the door behind him – and runs, heart pounding, a single name stuttering between his teeth, to the edge of town; and there he sees a figure standing, on the edge of a void. A car with an open door stands a way off. The figure, lost in the whirling mass before him, doesn't register his appearance, but it only takes the calling of the name, and then their eyes meet.

And it is no great wonder, no wonder at all, when a presenter wakes up on the edge of the desert, his head pounding, a cracked cell phone still in hand; and before him, across a great hole, lies a white-coated scientist, just as confused. And their eyes meet, and there is a moment of recognition: before they look around, and realise everything is the same, except there is no town in sight.

It doesn't matter. They are united again; Carlos and Cecil, Cecil and Carlos – in a way, at least. In a manner of speaking.

It is to be expected, really.


End file.
